Heir of Ashes

by Jina S Bazzar

  My wrist, however, was smooth and healthy.

  My jacket was in perfect shape. No burn spots or smoke marred the cloth. My left hand, like my right wrist, looked smooth and unblistered. In fact, the only part of my body burning was the hand that had physical contact with the threshold. Of course, my body was screaming from all the injustice it had to endure lately. And it was all connected to Remo Drammen.

  Shit, I had to get the hell out of there, or pain would be the least of my worries. First things first, my inner voice told me. Focus.

  There should've been ice in the bar. I spotted what could be a freezer and braced to get up and cursed when a piece of broken glass cut the palm of my left hand.

  “There goes smooth,” I murmured, watching the blood well up. I looked around at the mess calmly and grabbed a vodka bottle that was still in one piece.

  I studied it for a moment, my blood staining the glass bottle. Then with a loud, raging roar, I threw the bottle at the opposite wall. It exploded in a loud shower of glass, liquid and the strong scent of alcohol. Some of the glass fell through the threshold to the other side. I sighed, spiteful at the mess that littered the once perfect room.

  Fifteen minutes later, I slammed the door shut with a bang. No one bothered to investigate all the noise. I was sloshing water all over the room from the makeshift ice bandage around my burning hand and felt some childish satisfaction at the mess I had made.

  I moved to the window and watched as night turned into day. I couldn't feel any of the buzzing energy at the window, but Remo Drammen had ensured I wouldn't be going out that way simply by choosing the top most floors. And I realized there was nothing I could do but wait and see.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After I exerted enough of the restless energy coursing through me by pacing, I sat to rest and think. I had scoped the entire penthouse—a state of art and luxury—and, aside from cutting a pillow case to ribbons and bandaging my hand with it, there was nothing there that could be used to my advantage. I tried shifting my hand to talons and back, but the only difference was the excruciating pain it caused. The blisters didn't heal like the gash on the palm of my left hand did.

  There wasn't even a basic first-aid kit in the entire place. In fact, the entire place felt unoccupied. There was one lonely suit—white—hanging in the closet, still carrying the designer tag.

  Nothing else. Nothing in the bathroom but complimentary accessories. Nothing personal.

  * * *

  I jolted, fully awake and alert at the sound of soft tapping on glass.

  Shit, how could I fall asleep?

  Stupid.

  I looked around, searching for the source, but there was nothing. Outside, morning was in full swing.

  All three doors were open, and when the tapping came again, I followed the sound to the master bedroom, where the tapping came from behind the drapes.

  Tap tap tap.

  I hesitated a moment, wondering if Remo Drammen was behind the curtain, or if I'd find myself facing a hellhound, or a daemon, or something just as nasty.

  Tap tap tap.

  Ah, but wasn't I that curious cat?

  I approached the window cautiously, grabbed the curtain and yanked, belatedly realizing I should have grabbed something for a weapon.

  A gasp escaped my lips when I saw the figure plastered to the glass.

  “My God,” I hurried forward and began fumbling with the latches on the window. How?

  His lips were moving, but I couldn't hear him.

  He tapped again to get my attention, and I watched Logan's lips move, mouthing me to move back.

  When I did, I saw the rope he was dangling from. I kept backing up until the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed.

  Logan kicked the window with one booted foot, breaking the glass. Warm air rushed inside, along with the sound of distant traffic. Then he kicked it again and again, widening the gap until it was wide enough for him to get in, and no jagged edges remained.

  He dropped lightly to the floor, smashing glass under his boots, giving a cursory look around, sniffing and listening—looking everywhere but at me. Once he deemed the room safe enough, he focused his grey eyes on me.

  He studied me clinically; taking in my blood stained, rumpled clothes before fixing his intense gaze on my bandaged hand.

  “You alright?”

  I nodded, and after one more look around, he beckoned me forward. “We have to go now. Before someone comes to check on you.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Why are you helping me?”

  There was a small hesitation before he said, “Let's get out of here first. We'll talk once we get somewhere safer.”

  To my horror, I discovered there was no rope for me, not that I knew how to climb, just a belt-like contraption hooked to a similar one around his waist.

  He hooked me to him, instructed me to hold on tight, then smiled devilishly at me.

  “Whatever happens, don't look down,” he said and pushed us off the window.

  I admit, a tiny squeal escaped my lips at the first instance of airborne sensation. And, of course, when I looked down at the miniature life below … let's just say it wasn't one of the brightest moments of my life.

  Logan began pulling us upward, and, unable to help myself, I closed my arms around his neck in a death-like grip and shut my eyes tight.

  For the first time in a long time, I prayed. I prayed that the rope was strong enough for both our weight. I prayed that Remo didn't choose that instance to come back. I prayed that no one down on the street spotted us and reported it to the security team inside.

  By the time Logan tumbled us onto the roof, he was breathing hard, his exhales harsh and labored. “I guess I need more exercise,” he panted.

  No longer in immediate danger of falling to my death, I became self-consciously aware of how close we were, and was glad he couldn't see me blushing.

  “You can let go now,” he choked out, and my eyes flew open.

  I released the grip around his neck and backed away. Or tried to. We were still hooked together.

  He chuckled at the mortification that crossed my face and, just as efficiently as before, unhooked us from each other and then himself from all the hoops and the rope.

  I watched him work, noticing how the wind tossed his dark brown hair all around, and how there were reddish streaks in it.

  I was glad he had found me again. No matter his motive, between him and Remo, I'd choose him. A million times over.

  He looked at me sideways, no doubt sensing my gaze on him.

  “We should go. If someone realizes you're gone before we clear the building, we'll never get out of here,” he finished and threw the rope aside.

  I didn't argue. I wanted to get away from there and put a lot of distance between me and Remo Drammen, and whatever business he wanted me for.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I wasn't surprised to discover Logan had found his car. In a way, I knew he would. And although I was glad he'd found me too, I was curious.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “The internet.”

  I looked at him blankly for a moment, then comprehension dawned on me. “What, I'm on Facebook?”

  “That's not where I saw you, but I bet you're there too,” he said, a mischievous half smile playing on his lips.

  “Well?” I prompted when he didn't elaborate.

  “You're all over YouTube.” He gave me a sideways glance, then focused back on the road. “Considering who you punched, you're probably breaking news,” he chuckled. “Entertainment Tonight, too.”

  I just watched him blankly. He went on, “You know, you practically pulverized the bones and cartilage of his nose? Last I checked, he was still in surgery. I say he got lucky. Did you know you can kill someone with only a nose punch? You gotta angle the hook,” He gestured in an upward motion with his right hand, the heel of his palm angling forward. “So, when you punch, you send broken bones to the brain…” He glanced at me a
nd saw my blank expression.

  “And you have no idea who you punched, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “His name is P.J. Tyler. He's Hollywood's new hotshot. Women, media, agents, fans,” he waved a few fingers over the steering to include them all, “they all flock to him wherever he goes. That's probably how they caught the whole thing on video. Someone was already recording when he approached you.”

  He chuckled again, no doubt remembering the scene. “Don't worry about it. He'll live, and I'm sure he deserved it. Besides, some representative of MGM's PR department already gave a speech about your apprehension. And the fact that Mr. Drammen's honchos surrounded and escorted you out of there in handcuffs gave the speech some credibility.” He waved his arm in dismissal and fell silent.

  God, I hadn't even considered charges being pressed. Or even that the punch had caused so much damage. But again, I had thought it was one of the security dudes who had caught me and not a normal guest of the casino. At that time, I hadn't even considered how much damage a punch from me could cause, just that I had been caught and had to get free.

  Of all the guests at the casino, I had to punch the most illustrious, the most prominent, and the one most watched.

  And now what? Am I, on top of everything else, a fugitive of the law?

  A Hollywood hotshot. I swallowed hard, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back.

  Logan's hand fell over my knee and squeezed gently. “Hey, don't worry about it.”

  I nodded faintly, not bothering to open my eyes. I couldn't shake the feeling that my life was going to Hell in a hand basket.

  We left Las Vegas without another word, and I noticed that Logan kept a close watch on the rearview mirror. He was expecting trouble. He didn't say anything about me leaving him back in the hotel and I didn't apologize. Like I said, he had an agenda, and I wanted no part in it. Sure, he helped me a few times and maybe I wished him no harm, but I was not going to be his next paycheck, no matter what—or who—he crossed for me.

  “Where do you want to go?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

  “Excuse me?”

  He looked at me, his face grim. “I imagine if I take you to whatever designation you have in mind, you won't be so hell-bent in ditching me whenever. Plus, there's a chance once you scratch out whatever chore you have on your list, I'll have a better chance keeping you around.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  He shrugged, just a lift of his right shoulder, “I want something from you. In return, I'll reward you handsomely for your troubles. Plus, I'll personally deliver you safely to whatever place you want to go.”

  I was silent for a moment, wondering what he could possibly want from someone like me. What was with these people? First Remo Drammen, now him?

  When my silence stretched too long, he gave me a cursory look. “You know, I thought after all these… incidents,” he said, wry amusement on his lips, “you shoulda figured I don't work for the Society.”

  Yeah, I figured as much.

  “You don't?” I asked, playing along.

  “No.”

  “Then who do you work for?”

  “No one.”

  “Then why…” I gestured with my left hand, making a wide motion to encompass everything that had happened.

  “I want something from you,” he said, and I waited for him to go on.

  “And that is?” I prompted.

  He stared straight ahead at the road, clearly choosing his words.

  “The Society kidnapped a friend of mine a couple of weeks ago. It is my understanding that you escaped the place not too long ago and that you are familiar with the grounds and security system. I will deliver you safely to wherever you want to go in exchange for your help getting my friend back—”

  “No.” No way was I having anything to do with that place again. Not voluntarily. I shuddered at the idea.

  He slowed down and parked the car at the shoulder and turned to give me his full attention. I wondered if it also served to emphasize that if I wasn't helping, then there was no need for me to go on with him. I looked around at the endless road and desert ahead. Even if he left me stranded in the middle of nowhere, he'd never be able to dissuade me.

  I set my chin and stared back at him.

  “No?”

  “No.” My voice carried a final note to it.

  “You don't even know what I want you to do or how much I'm willing to pay you for your assistance…” At the shake of my head, he trailed off, narrowing his eyes at me. “I don't think you understand the full extent of your situation. I've heard the Society is so afraid of you they have been dispatching mercenaries left and right after you. They say you have stolen some dangerous information from their archives, and that you could use this knowledge to unbalance the power seat of the preternatural hierarchy.” He paused a second for effect, then continued, “If that rumor spreads further on to higher ears, the Society will be the least of your troubles.”

  Well, I'll be damned. I hadn't seen that coming. But my thief status aside, no way in hell was I going back to the PSS to help someone's friend, not even for the balance of the entire world.

  “If you help me, I can get you off every one's radar. Plus, I guarantee to get you out of there safely.”

  I shook my head again. “It doesn't matter. My answer is no.” I paused a moment before adding, “If it were something else, perhaps I could help you. But this… going back there… I can't.”

  He stared at me for a long time, his grey eyes flat, almost cold. I stared back, not letting him intimidate me an inch. I wondered if he was going to tell me to get out now and finish my journey on my own. If he thought that making me walk the rest of the way to civilization was going to bend me, he was sorely wrong.

  “Look, I'm sorry about your friend, but there's nothing in this world you could offer me that would convince me to go back there voluntarily.”

  “You do realize,” he began slowly, “that I'm not the only one besides the Society capable to track you down? I can keep those people away, and help you disappear after we're done rescuing my friend.”

  I paused. It would be wonderful to have someone protecting me, sharing my burden for once. Helping me to disappear, to find a place where I could pursue my life, not afraid every time I have to turn a corner. If it had been anything else he was asking, I'd have jumped at the offer.

  “Yeah, I figured it out,” I said quietly.

  “You know they won't stop coming after you? I can help you disappear, provide you with a different ID, a job, and a home somewhere no one would be able to find you.”

  My anger bubbled at his careless words. “Look, I'm not going back to the PSS even if they hire every single assassin in the United States to come after me. I'd rather be free and fighting for my life than be stuck in a cage and helpless.” Literally.

  He stared at me for a long time, then pursed his lips and looked away. I could tell he hadn't expected me to resist his offer. Well, he was in for a shock, because there was nothing he could offer me, nothing in the whole world that would entice me enough to make me go back of my own free will to the PSS.

  I turned my head and watched the desert, waiting for Logan to either tell me to get out or start the car.

  When he spoke again, his grey eyes had darkened with determination. “Very well, don't come with me. How well can you describe the Society's grounds? Can you draw a map of the place?”

  “I know as much as a prisoner was allowed to see. I was there for a while.” I rubbed the palms of my hands on my pants. “If it's a place I've been taken before, I can give you the smallest detail—down to a crack on the tile. A chipped corner's edge. I can even tell you locations of restricted areas, some of which I know what are used for.”

  He inclined his head in agreement, but I could tell he was far from satisfied by settling for less. “Then draw me a map. What about surveillance?”

  “There are cameras and sensors everywhere, along wi
th guards like those from the motel,” I said and forced myself to still my hand. I knew with certainty if Logan tried to rescue his friend, he'd never be able to leave. Provided he wasn't killed during the attempt.

  “Draw me the map, include as many details as you can remember. Can you do that?” At my nod of agreement he started the car and began driving again. “How did you escape?” he asked a long time later.

  I turned from the endless desert outside to look at him.

  “I behaved.”

  If I hadn't, they would never have agreed to the session. In exchange for driving lessons, I had to consent and cooperate with Dr. Maxwell and any new horrible experimentation, give away a piece of myself, my ability. If it was something they deemed worthy, I got a session. If not, just an afternoon outside—chaperoned by a few Elite guards.

  I didn't tell Logan that, or that I had been taking lessons for a long time before the opportunity to escape presented itself. Or how a whole contingency of the PSS's Elite Team followed me around. In the end, I had killed two guards, and left two more, along with Dr. Maxwell, unconscious in the woods, hit with their own brand of tranquilizers, and dumped both escort vehicles into the Sound.

  Logan looked at me quizzically. “You behaved, that's it?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said with a shrug.

  Sometimes, I'd lay awake at night and think back on that day, wondering if someone had helped me go. Not that it had been easy, mind you; just that some of the most important elements of that day should never have happened.

  Throughout the years, there had been a guard or two who had helped me once or twice, although any interference on their part had come indirectly, so if anything went wrong the blame would fall solely on me.

  “So where do you want to go?” Logan asked again.

  “Sacramento.”

  While I had been pacing in Remo Drammen's penthouse, I reached the conclusion that if I wanted answers to my questions, I had to stop meandering in an aimless hoop and find out who, or what, I really was. Once I got that puzzle piece fitted, I'd have a clearer view of what awaited me ahead.

  To do that, I needed to find the only person who could provide me with the answers.